


Cosmic Conundrum

by TricksterNag1to



Category: Original Work
Genre: Canon Autistic Character, Choose Your Own Adventure, Choose Your Own Character, Choose Your Own Ending, Homestuck-Like Aspect, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lucid Dreaming, Nosebleed, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Omniscient, References to Outside Media
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TricksterNag1to/pseuds/TricksterNag1to
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two kids play a game that seems borderline insane, created by some sort of cosmic children in order to have one wish come true. Hundreds of situations and possibilities and only one quick lifetime. The access to these games are through a game, while lucid dreaming.</p><p>Would you play this game, to have one wish come true?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction- Host

_Hello friends._

_I am your host speaking._

_You will not learn my name just yet, I'm just here for the introduction and I will be well on my way._

_This story is going to be interactive, because people choose those to read instead of your "Locked Jonathan's" and your "David Felines" and whatnot._

_It's best for me to say this now._

_**I am not Doctor Scratch**._

_Anywho, here's your fun part!_

_Pick a character!_

[ **> [Player One.]** ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4480742/chapters/10567092)

[ **> [Player Two.]** ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4480742/chapters/10480197)

 

_It won't matter until the bitter end, it honestly won't in my opinion._

_Of course, I couldn't care less about this silly game. It's more for your enjoyment rather than mine._

_Well well, chop-chop._

_Pick one._


	2. Introduction- Player One

_I'm frankly upset that you picked this blasting dolt first, but alas I can't change your options._

_There's more in store, the more that meets the eye._

_We're almost here, it's truly dear._

_It's time to say goodbye!_

_I hope you enjoy this ride we're about to take, it only gets worse as we advance._

_Please enjoy._

_This was all done for you._

* * *

 

A young man, studying the screaming gulls that seemed to determinedly dive face-first into the water to presumedly find a well-deserved meal was scribbling notes, along with weak sketches watched the birds with fear and anxiety. His blue-grey eyes, often hidden behind his black hair and thick, yet cracked glasses watched one of the birds climb onto the ship. He knew his father wouldn't take kindly to him slacking off, despite hardly ever working. 

"Simon goddamned Birch!" the boy's father hollered across the boat. Simon turned around quickly, throwing his hands in the air only to cringe at the sudden 'plop' sound of something hitting, then sinking in water. Simon's heart began to race. He begged that anything, anything but his precious and extremely expensive notebook hadn't fallen into the hungry and soulless ocean.

"Yeah??" he yelled back, grabbing a net and stabbing it in the ocean blindly, hoping he could save his beloved notes from possibly killing an animal or getting caught in a boat. "Uh.. What is it?" Loud, thunderous steps echoed throughout the Castaway. Simon's father, Theodore went down to the front of the ship and ripped the net out of Simon's hands and tossed the metallic rod to the ground.  
  
Good news, the notebook was safe. Bad news, Simon was once again in trouble. He was always in trouble, whether it was for daydreaming or reading or sleeping. In a way, he was always terrified of his father. Theodore was gigantic, with a fat belly and gigantic muscles to match it, a big white beard that seemed to make his face complete. His father was also extremely old, somewhere in his mid fifties and didn't have time for Simon's alleged bullcrap.  
  
"Look at you! Fuckin idiot.." Theodore yelled, giving Simon a harsh shove that forced him to collide against the ship before landing ass-first on the ground. "Quit spending your days drawing sissy pictures and do something for once! I didn't raise no pansy." Then, Theodore picked up the net with the notebook somehow impaled right down the middle, wound back a hand and hurled it far, far back into the sea. 

Simon's heart snapped in two. That notebook, along with several other books and pens cost three weeks worth of pay. He could feel tears clouding behind his eyes. This always happened, this literally always happened. _If only you could see the world through my eyes_. He snapped internally while prying the small book from the net. Hopefully of he hung up his notes they could dry. Then he could copy them into his other empty notebook.

Soon enough they would dock again, he could buy the few things he wanted and needed an he would be out of his father's hair for a little while longer. A long, prolapsed sigh left the boy's lips as he trudged towards his room, only to be tripped by Theodore on the way there. His face hit the hard against the well-polished wooden surface of the Castaway. Salt and the taste of rust plagued his mouth. He must of started bleeding again. A nosebleed. Simon hated blood.

Quickly, the teenager picked himself up, holding a hand to his bleeding nose and ran towards his room, leaving a small puddle of blood behind. Once he got inside he could feel the annoying pain of tears burning behind one's eyes starting up again. _God._ He thought. _What a damn crybaby._ Folding his knees to his chest and forcing his nose shut, he let out a quiet crack of his voice, followed by a long wheeze of air. Tears ran down his face. Simon threw the tattered notebook across his room.

It hit something. Probably a map. _Great._

He had learned the hard way coping skills didn't always help. Two months ago his father found out he was smoking and threw a beer bottle at him. Bits of glass were probably still imbedded somewhere underneath his thin, pasty white skin that covered his right hand. For one reason or another, it was kind of hard for Simon to remember or forget certain things. _Constellations and galaxies and every known fact to man about whales and deer?_ Yes. _Remembering to hide anything his father would certainly yell at him for?_ Not a chance.

After what felt like, a century compared to reality, fifteen minutes of crying, Simon stared at his clock. A small clay wall clock of a cloud-white whale. He had gotten it two years ago on his thirteenth birthday from his pen pal. A person who he rarely remembered the name of, but thoroughly remembered their love of seashells and swirled cakes and more childish and innocent things. They were the one who sent him his third poster of the world, in full color along with a three page letter that was coated with stickers.

Sighing, Simon took his hand away from his nose and sucked in a deep breath. The taste of blood continued to pool in his mouth, as well as nasal mucus and saliva with the saltiness of his tears. Normally, his father would burst in the room and make some sort of fuss about his crying. Something about how men aren't supposed to cry, how men are supposed to be strong. Looking around his small room that was slightly larger than a walk-in closet. Boxes of books littered the floor, a small desk with a lamp sat across from him with an endless sea of notes flooding from the desk itself to a trashcan.

Laying open on his bed was a book about whales. Whales were always a calming thought for Simon. A year ago, when he was fifteen he saw a whale nearly jump over his father's small, but durable boat in the waking hours of the morning. It was a beautiful creature, one Simon had never seen in all his years of living on a boat and catching fish with his father.

The memory was a memory that could never be forgotten in his glassy blue eyes, the magnificent white creature bounding in the air with a single leap. Like a letter sailing in the wind. Once it landed with such juvenile grace on it's back, the letter was sent, and it was signed with nothing other but _"Signed, yours truly, the Whale."_ Every night to get himself to sleep Simon mentally replayed that thought in his head, like how the average person would count sheep, he would count whales. It was a special interest he could never seem to tear away from his mind.

Whales, stars and deer were the three things he seemed to love most. Those three topics seemed to plague his dreams and thoughts, along with studying animals. If he ever left the cage he called this boat, he'd leave for good and never step foot near the ocean unless it was near a whale, they were the only exception. The more he thought about his future, the more clouded his vision got. Maybe that meant something? In Simon's mind, cloudy eyes meant he needed rest. Lazily taking off his glasses, he tossed them onto his desk before climbing into his small and extremely cramped and uncomfortable bed.

Sleep came along with the crashing waves against the ship, and Simon begged something for a good dream.

Hopefully, they would respond positively.

_Signed, yours truly, the Whale._

 

* * *

 

_So, I believe you met one of this players of my game. Soon it will begin as quick as a whip._

_Who do you think will win? The boy on the ship? He may not be as quick._

_Nobody knows, just hope we won't sink._

_In the end, my friends, there is no true winner._

_Just the one who has sinned, and has been crowned a true sinner._

_Farewell for now, the time is nye, it's time to say goodbye!_

_This was all done for you._

 

** >[Continue Player One?] **

[ ** >[Player Two?] ** ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4480742/chapters/10480197)

****

 

 


	3. Introduction- Player Two

_Now, I noticed we've been getting a few anonymous notes on a few parts of this game. While I am fine with it, I truly am I'd like to acknowledge this._

_If the person who is known as 'tala' does not stop leaving unnecessary comments on this work, or any others I will disable comments._

_That aside, I noticed a few people asked for player two to begin instead of player one. Trust me, they're worth the wait in my opinion._

_Alas, my opinion isn't fact, not true for that matter. You don't even know my name.  Let's push that aside and start the show._

_Let us meet, player two._

_Good luck and farewell for now.._

_This was all because of you._

 

* * *

 

[Player 2 Begins]

  
  
Phones rang loudly inside the small building, a child threw an explosive sounding tantrum two doors down from a makeshift classroom, where four students sat in an octagon- with two empty desks. Soft steps followed by clunky thumps filled a hallway that had cracked walls, occasionally the walls had a painting of something that seemed unnatural for a mental health hospital that was (rarely) funded by the state. A mural of children playing in the springtime with flowers and rabbits transitioned into a summertime scene at the beach, that at the middle turned into some sort of desert before morphing into autumn and winter.

The entire situation felt like prison. The owner of the clunky thumps was Maxine Weir, a young girl sent to Paradise Mental Health Hospital for the two-week long 'help' program that was apparently for teenagers and teenagers only. Despite several smaller children running around, including one who was being chased by two nurses with what looked like a shard of glass in their hand. Maxie smiled at that, it was like her street fights. A quick run away from the cops, or running from her aunt in late hours of the night.

Turning a corner, Maxie saw a series of crayon scribbles that seemed stuck to the walls. The man in front of her, who had not given her his name had suddenly stopped and turned around, bending on one knee to get direct eye contact with her. "Maxine?" he asked, his voice was very stereotypical, he was tall and African American in some polo outfit that Maxie would expect to see on a campy family television show where everyone's quirky and typical, or as the therapist said, neurotypical. "I understand you're scared of being here, and you may have not wanted to come but-"

Maxie huffed, crossing her arms with a sneer across her face. "Listen. I don't care. My goal of this shitstain is to leave this place, that's it. I don't need your help, I was forced to come here. You can't help me, got it?" she barked, tiny bits of saliva passing by her lips and getting on the man's face, he merely wiped it off with his tie and took a deep breath. He'd probably dealt with far worse. The man looked completely neutral as he did earlier. Just a bit more tired than when he got Maxie from the door and speaking with her aunt.

Silence almost felt violent in the small staring contest the soon to be student and teacher had. "Maxine." he sighed, rubbing his temples. He was bald, and his wrinkles seemed to melt into his hand. "I understand you don't want to be here, Okay? I get that." he rested his arm on his knee and snapped his fingers. "We're just trying to help you. We know that you used to fight and..." the man paused, motioning to one of the many, many scars and ripples of skin on Maxie's arms. "That. If you cooperate with us, you leave early. Aight?" 

Nothing else was said as they walked to the schoolroom.

"I heard there's a new kid in the program today." one teenager from the program whispered to another, only to be ignored. The man, named no other than Alexander Tarte opened the door and new student walked in. She was average height with some sort of shitty haircut, wearing a t-shirt with a foreign design on it, her arms had bruises and scars and other odd marks patterning it. Wearing a nervous expression, and behind that expression held pink and purple braces. She was certainly something, and her appearance screamed _don't go near me_.  
  
"Hello class." Tarte smiled, looking more like a mannequin than a realistic person. "This is Maxine Weir, a new patient in Paradise. Try not to eat her alive, okay?" The tall, dark man laughed before giving the newbie a pat on the back before she walked towards a desk in the back of the room.Anger filler her stomach. She hated the name 'Maxine' so much. It sounded like a name you'd see in a bad movie that belonged to the one girl who got everything she wanted with a snap of her finger. That's not how the world worked. The world worked by fighting for what's yours.

A cough broke the awkward silence that had filled the classroom "It's just Maxie. Not Maxine." she said, throwing her bag at one of the random desks in the lopsided octagon. Maxie tried not to puke. She didn't want to be in this hell of a paradise. Looking around the room, she noticed four new faces. A tall girl who Maxie hoped was gay clicked her nails on her desk while staring out the one of the dozens of half-traced, half original character drawings made by kids transitioning between elementary school and middle school that just found some bad music and needed some edge in their lives, some kid who was so fat and had a seemingly permanent scowl picked at his skin, occasionally stopping to pick his nose and eat what was inside.

One of the other students that caught the newcomer's eye was a girl who looked like she was about to cry anxiously scribbled something on a piece of paper before looking around the room, twitching and returning to her scribbling before repeating her task. " _Must be stimming or something"_ , Maxie thought with a mental shrug. The last of the bunch was the first to speak.

"Hey! Hey you!" a boy who looked like he was about to enter fourth grade asked, loudly stamping his foot on the floor. "Hey! Hey! Hey!" this kid repeated. What felt like ten minutes went by before the class resumed, and the kid continued stamping and parroting his "Heys". Then this kid started poking her arm, right on top of her newest bruise with his Avengers pencil, sending a small prick of pain throughout her arm.

If Maxie didn't have a migraine from anxiety, she was going to get one from the brat next to her. "What?" she snapped, leaning towards him and making the room come to a stop. The brat's face dropped, Maxie quickly raised an arm and clocked that kid in the face. One thing that Maxie was known for, was her thunderous voice. She was loud and bold, and certainly held her ground. Another thing she was known for, was her right hook.  
  
Now, the newest thing she was known for was knocking a kid out.

Maxie couldn't remember much, even if she tried. Fear filled her body. Emotions twisted and turned like a washing machine in her small stomach. When she randomly awoke, she was in a new bed. This made her concerned, this bed was not her own. Her aunt isn't here. A random, throbbing pain circled her wrists like a snake would with it's branch and burned through her thin, scarred skin. Her boring, brown eyes looked around the room. It was a white room with white walls with a checkered floor that was, surprise- white. The sight of such a bright color after randomly falling asleep made the teenager cringe.

"Where the hell am I?" the brunette cursed, sitting up in her bed and rubbing her eyes. Mascara rubbed onto the sides of her fingers and smudged down her face. She looked like a raccoon on some sort of shitty cartoon. Across the other room, a fabric divider created by an old sheet moved like a ghost against the wall. Behind it was one of the girl's from Maxie's class.The girl who was looking at the drawings. She must of been older, she clearly looked like it. Maxie internally dubbed her 'Drawing Girl' until she could learn her actual name.

Long blonde hair that looked practically white collided with a small green streak that was a similar color of dead grass framed her face with a small crown, made of fabric roses sat on the top of her head. She turned her head slowly and opened her green eyes that seemed to remind Maxie of a watermelon green, or a pea green stared at her. "You knocked Speedy out, so the nurses put you down to calm you down." Drawing Girl spoke flatly, wiping a strand of white hair out of her eyes.

The way this girl said 'put you down' reminded Maxie way too much of putting a dog down, or putting someone to death. She opened her mouth to speak, and ask for the exact definition of being put down, but the words "Who are you?" left her mouth. Instantly Maxie felt like she was slapped across the face with regret, than a random wave of sadness. Before she knew it, tears had made their way down her cheeks. What was happening? This didn't feel right at all. A sob escaped her lips.

"My name is Angel. I'm the longest case in here, so come to me for your questions." Angel introduced, looking at the door cautiously before getting out of her bed and walking over to Maxie and putting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't cry..." she cooed, wiping a tear from the others face, ignoring the 'hands to yourself' rule that was clearly stated by her bed. "Your tears don't matter here, because you don't matter."

Then, with that one statement made Maxie black out.

* * *

_So, I believe you met both players of this game. Soon it will begin as quick as a whip._

_Who do you think will win? The boy on the ship, or the girl in the clink._

_Nobody knows, just hope we won't sink._

_In the end, my friends, there is no true winner._

_Just the one who has sinned, and has been crowned a true sinner._

_Farewell for now, the time is nye, it's time to say goodbye!_

_This was all done for you.  
_

[ ** >[Player One.] ** ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4480742/chapters/10567092)

** >[Continue.] **

 


End file.
